


wait.

by bagelauthor



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Blood and Gore, Character Death, M/M, Starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:35:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24130696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bagelauthor/pseuds/bagelauthor
Summary: When Gilbert doesn’t come home for dinner one day, Feliciano assumes the worst. Turns out he was right.
Relationships: North Italy/Prussia (Hetalia)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	wait.

**Author's Note:**

> oh geez i wrote this two years ago and now i decided to make an ao3 so i thought i’d post this here!! this is sad was 8th grade me okay

The wedding was warm.

It was the first true spring afternoon that year, and Gilbert and Feliciano only made it seem better. The sheer joy was evident on their faces. They were just so helplessly in love as they choked out their vows, tears gently stinging their eyes. Their kiss was longer than it should have been, but no one cared. It was perfect, one might say, the newlyweds' eyes locking. The whole ceremony was nothing short of heart-warming.

Ludwig didn't show up.

The happy couple moved in together soon after. The house was old but nice. It smelled faintly of flowers. The floorboards creaked and the faucet dripped, but neither of them cared. In an odd sort of way, that only made them love it more. Gilbert went to work in the mornings, Feli peppering his face with little kisses as Gil tried to push himself past. They were both smiling. Feliciano, miraculously, always had dinner on the table when Gilbert walked through the door. He greeted him with a smile, with a "buonasera, bello". They threw some cheesy Adam Sandler comedy in the cheap DVD player they bought from Best Buy a while back; and Gilbert would grab his husband's hand, desperate for someone to hold after yet another stressful day at the office. And, like always, Feliciano was more than happy to oblige.

Someone kissed the other, typically. It was usually sudden, but sometimes one of them would trail their hand along the other's face. Some nights their lips crashed together, in a sort of fiery emotion that neither of them could hold in. Sometimes, they wrapped their arms around each other, their eyes shut tight and their breath was taken away. And on some nights, they were both too tired to go about it like that. They couldn't find any strength in themselves, so they simply collapsed into each other's arms, finding serendipity (or the closest thing to it) in the warmth of each other. The hum of the refrigerator would lull them over to sleep right there on the couch, and it was just as lovely as the alternative.

They fit like two pieces of a puzzle. Without the other, they were incomplete. They needed each other.

So when Gilbert didn't come home one day, you could imagine why Feliciano had felt so empty.

It was even on the news, for god's sake. In short, a bus driver hadn't heeded the painfully obvious traffic lights. It crashed into the side of Gilbert's car, smashing his head into the glass. It was truly something to see, with little shards of glass piercing his skin and his brains spilled on the dashboard. Bright crimson blood had stained his once dry-cleaned suit, his neck in this ungodly position. It was degrading.

And the worst part about it all was that he was not the only to die. A few others, on the bus and in their now bloodied cars, had been killed by the crash.

Gilbert would now be known as nothing more than a looked over casualty.

But poor Feliciano - his TV wasn't even on. By the time the media had finished their news stories and forgotten about the incident forever, he had just finished making dinner. It was his favorite, too. He was smiling, typical for himself, but this time it was a bit wider than usual. He was quite positive that his husband would enjoy it - if only he'd come home soon! If he was too later, his dinner would get cold.

Now, he was used to occasional nights where Gilbert was an hour late or so, but that was rare. So when it was a quarter past 11, hours after the time Gilbert usually got home, he was practically falling apart. He had blown the other's phone up with nearly 50 texts, asking him where he was and why he wasn't home yet. He called him, too. 20 times! It was unlike Gilbert to completely ignore him. So what did he do wrong? Was Gilbert mad at him? What did he do this time? Is he sick of him? What if he hates him? What if he's never coming home? What if he had gotten himself killed- oh god, he thought, an audible sob escaping his lips.

He had resorted to sitting in the corner of his- their bedroom, trembling hands holding his head as he sobbed, Gil's name passing his lips every few minutes or so.

It was pathetic.

No, he told himself. No, he's just very late to come home, and maybe there was some late night traffic as well. No, he still loves me. Maybe his phone died. Maybe he's fine. Maybe-

And then he realized Gilbert's dinner was probably freezing.

Feli's heart skipped a beat and his bloodshot eyes ripped open. What if Gilbert came home to a cold dinner? He scrambled to a stand, nearly tripping over his own feet as he raced to the kitchen. His tears didn't stop while his feet did, staring at the untouched meal on the stove. His stomach growled. No, he thought to himself, not really knowing what he was scolding himself for this time. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, turning the burner back on with a blank expression.

He knew he would be home soon. He almost smiled.

He couldn't wait to see his husband again.

about one week later

How long had Ludwig been knocking on the door? He hadn't really been keeping track- fuck. Well, he couldn't just give up. What had the hell even happened to Feliciano? Nowhere to be seen at Gil's funeral. No flowers left or tears shed at his husband's grave, the soil still fresh. You would have thought he would be the first in the damned church. Ludwig had tried calling him - straight to voicemail. Had his phone been dead for a week? He had almost given up hope on the man when the door clicked open, a very frantic Italian behind it.

"Gilbe-?" Feliciano's grin faded into only a soft smile. There was a hint of disappointment in his eyes.

"Oh. Hi, Ludwig."

It had always felt good to see Feliciano's face. But this time, he felt nothing.

As he opened his mouth to speak, Ludwig cut himself short- he could only stare at Feli's slightly protruding rib cage. From what he could conclude, he hadn't showered in days. He was oddly pale.

"Feliciano, you look like hell. Have... have you not been eating?"

"No... what do you mean? I had breakfast this morning-"

"No," he said, noticing the bags under his eyes and the quivering of his hands. "Feliciano, what's wrong, really-"

"Nothing's wrong," Feli said quickly, his eyes hardening just a bit. There was an uncomfortable pause. "You can come inside if you'd like. I'm just making dinner." Ludwig almost refused, but once Feliciano motioned for him to come in he decided against it and stepped inside.

It smelt terrible; of burnt foods and something else that Ludwig couldn't exactly put a name to. Before he could even open his mouth, he was being instructed to sit on the couch next to Feli. As he neared the kitchen, he could smell spoiled milk very clearly. Feli, however, did not seem fazed by it.

Finally, after a good fifteen seconds of silence, Feliciano spoke up with a sheepish "so, why exactly are you here, Luddy?"

Ludwig winced at the name, clearing his throat before he responded. "I just wanted to check on you. You haven't been answering your phone."

"Oh, have I? Oh, I'm sorry, Luddy, I think I just forgot to plug it in last night, you know me, always forgetful, haha," he said, rushing it out.

There was another silence. Ludwig truly didn't know what to say. He opened his mouth to ask Feli about why he wasn't at the funeral, but he was too late. 

"Uh, Ludwig," Feli started, quietly, "if you don't mind, I need to get back to making dinner. I don't want it to be late like last time."

Ludwig nodded, standing up. There was no goodbye hug, no plead to stay for just another five minutes. Just a very small smile as Ludwig showed himself to the door.

Like always, he had been too late.

.

Gilbert had snatched up the symphony Ludwig had written for Feliciano. He had performed it himself, leaving Ludwig to watch in the audience, as a bystander. He was left in the dust as his brother lived the life he wanted with the man he loved. He should have been on that stage. He should have been the one performing that symphony. He should have won him over while he had the chance. But once again, he was too late. 

He knew he should have enjoyed it, at least. He should have been happy for them. But he wasn't.

Feliciano's brother had been the one to find him. He picked the lock of his home after a couple hundred too many unanswered phone calls, nearly vomiting when he saw the pitiful state he was in. He had starved himself to death, his skin a sickening white with a hint of green.

They planned to bury him next to his husband. They knew he would have wanted it.

Feliciano's funeral was closed casket.

Ludwig didn't show up.


End file.
